“I’m just passing through. I’m not trying to make enemies.” The male swiped one of his filthy hands through his tousled hair, cowed and submissive. “And my information is secondhand.”
Funny he didn’t mention that before. “Then say what you came to say.”
“Were you really a loner? You don’t look like a rogue.”
“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
“But you joined a pack.”
“I’ve recently found my female,” he replied, lying just a teensy bit. The rogue was suspicious. He needed to find common ground. “That changes things.”
“I wouldn’t know,” the informant confessed sheepishly. “Not being mated and all.”
A waitress walked over, moving with a grace that only vampires possessed. She crossed the distance in the blink of an eye and stopped beside them. “What can I get you?”
“A shot of house whiskey,” Shane replied, keeping his gaze on the rogue.
In a flash the server was gone. Totally expected considering her nature. The Divide was the perfect place to meet all things supernatural. The staff didn’t stop to chat. Therefore there were never unnecessary questions. Just the way werewolves and blood drinkers liked it. Since it was midday the joint wasn’t hopping. That would change once the sun dipped below the horizon. After dark patrons would jam the bar and crowd the small dance floor.
“I’d start talking if I were you,” he pushed, voice low. “Time’s almost up.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t.” That was the truth but he decided to bend it to suit his needs. “But remember who arranged this meeting. I wasn’t the one offering up answers for money, and I wouldn’t have heard about the gossip if I didn’t have a strong connection with loners around these parts. You offered me a service, not the other way around.”
“True.”
Shane nodded, staring at the male. “So tell me why I’m here.”
“Word has it a female sent someone after your women.” The way he said it made Shane’s hackles rise, like he knew far more but wasn’t sharing unless he had to. The fucker thought he was clever. “She found a loner and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
That was interesting. “What kind of offer?”
“What kind do you think?” The rogue snorted, his roughly shadowed face contorting into a façade of self-loathing. “Reckless we might be but we don’t have a death wish. It just takes the right amount of convincing. A little bit of comfort, you might say.”
Make that very interesting. “She fucked him?”
The male nodded. “Rumor has it.”
Pack bitches would never lower themselves to rogue’s level. No matter how great the temptation. He’d been told so as a boy and learned it firsthand after he’d left his pack. Not that it mattered. On a mission to find his mate, he didn’t want anyone else. But he’d seen the way females had looked at him when he’d arrived at Atrum Hill. They appreciated his appearance but they weren’t likely to touch. Only two women were desperate enough to consider such a thing and—surprise, surprise—they both wanted Chloe Bryant dead.
“Do you have a description?”
The rogue paused, shifting back as the waitress returned with a shot of whiskey in the center of a tray. Shane pulled out a wad of money, letting the rogue get a good look. Then he pulled a large bill loose and exchanged the money for the drink.
“Keep the change.”
The woman left and Shane slid the money into his jacket. The rogue’s eyes followed each motion of his hand and then his gaze dropped to the liquor. The drunken male was practically begging for another taste of rotgut. Pack wolves weren’t known for heavy drinking. Loners, on the other hand, descended into absolute destruction. It was a part of their nature.
“A description,” Shane goaded the male, keeping his fingers at the base of the glass.
“Tall and curvy. Good and clean. Dressed nice.”
“Hmm.” That wasn’t nearly enough information. Lots of women fit that description. Rotating the container between his fingers, Shane asked, “Anything else?”
“Brunette. Long legs.” The man studied Shane’s fingers, licking his lips. “Real pretty.”
“Is that all?” He knew it wasn’t. The male was holding back.
“I didn’t see her, remember?” The rogue’s dark black eyes bore into Shane’s, something a lesser wolf wouldn’t do to an Alpha male unless it was reckless or totally insane. “Are you going to drink that?”
“Maybe,” he drawled, staring the moronic werewolf down. “Maybe not.”
“She was muscular and trim. Built well enough to be full-blooded were.”
“Gyms and steroids have advanced the human race.”
“My friend said she liked to throw money around. He thought she had plenty to spare.”
“Your friend?” Shane questioned, still holding the idiot werewolf’s gaze.
“More of an acquaintance,” the male quickly amended, looking away. “A braggart really.”
Bullshit. Loners didn’t brag to wolves they felt were weaker than them.
“You expect me to believe someone told you he fucked a bitch who wanted members of my pack dead? That seems like something a man should keep to himself if he wants to keep his head on his shoulders. Loners avoid wolves for a reason.”
“Unless they’re blowing through town.”
“Like you?”
“Just like me.” The mongrel nodded.
“So what have you got to hide?” He pushed harder, needing to know. “Would your acquaintance be the same male who attacked the females in our pack? Seems to me that’s where this conversation is headed.”
He saw the panic flare in the rogue’s eyes, noting how quickly the male lowered his head. The lack of response sealed the rogue’s fate. As soon as their meeting was over Shane would escort the poor bastard to a bunker used to do things humans couldn’t know about—mostly involving torture and eventual death. The rogue deserved no less. Secondhand information was one thing. This fucker had known a male was going to attack female members of a pack yet he’d done nothing to prevent it.
“Are you hard of hearing? Do I need to repeat the questions?”
The male balled the hand he’d rested on the table into a fist, lips sealed.
No answers. Not that Shane had expected any…yet.
That’s a bingo.
“It’s cool. I understand. Like I said, I have questions and you have answers. That’s why I came. Here, this is yours.” Shane passed the drink over and glanced around for the waitress. What he had in mind would call for a bottle of triple-strength whiskey—the kind werewolves needed to get good and buzzed. She returned, waiting for instruction. “The hardest whiskey you’ve got. Four glasses, double shots.”
In another town the order might have raised eyebrows. One double shot of the hard shit could put a werewolf on his ass. But this wasn’t another town. This was Atrum Hill, nestled in an area where humans refused to roam. Packs existed in the open, uncaring if humans knew where they were. They didn’t like hiding their nature, pretending they still existed in the shadows. There was a good reason mortals avoided the area. Once they came here they’d be lucky if they made it out alive.
“Whatever you say,” the waitress responded dismissively.
She vanished and Shane reached into his jacket for the money he’d flashed at the rogue. He pulled it out slowly, making sure he made a show of it. “No troubles here, I just need you to work with me. Why don’t we start with your friend’s name?”
The rogue still wasn’t convinced, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”
“What’ve you got to lose?” Shane asked. “With this,” he thumbed his finger over the bills, “you can split and we never have to see each other again. We don’t want you. We’re only after the person responsible for the attack. If the pack wanted you dead they wouldn’t have sent me. I’m too new. Think about it for a second.”